“What are your plans for Thanksgiving?” my mother asked on a Saturday in November.

“Mom, Thanksgiving was Thursday. We picked you up, brought you to our house for dinner, then brought you home.”

My mother, at 85, no longer remembers what day it is, but she still remembers me and she remembers my sister. She is happiest when she asks about her grandchildren, even if she can’t remember that my oldest son is married and that she attended the wedding two-and-a-half years ago. Or that my youngest son is not married, but has long since graduated from college.